Pestilence
by Big Town Avenue
Summary: "Ain't never seen the wind so quiet before," Darry said as he looked out onto the street. The sky was still light, but the sun was setting. He knew it wouldn't bring any relief to the heat of the day. Just darkness.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: So ... this is a story a couple years in the making (written for NaNoWriMo) that I've finally gotten the courage to post. Friends from the 731 Boards may remember the discussion that sparked this story to begin with.**

**And just an FYI if you end up being confused: This is a standalone story, post-book, with absolutely no connections to anything written by A Sideways Smile. (So no, this is not the sequel to _What a Night for a Dance_. Sorry.)**

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns _The Ou__tsiders_ and Mumford and Sons owns "Winter Winds."  
**

* * *

_We'll be washed and buried one day, my girl,  
And the time we were given will be left for the world  
The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague  
So let the memories be good for those who stay_

**August 1969  
**

The heat had steamrolled the entire state and refused to break. There hadn't been rain in weeks – even longer than the heat wave had made itself known – and there were fire warnings from Kansas down to Texas.

Officer Miles pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his forehead. The heat was relentless and unforgiving, making the petty criminals of Tulsa restless enough to wreck havoc and making even the sanest of folks lose their heads. He tucked his clipboard back in place after he slid into his cruiser. Tulsa's finest were waist deep in grievances throughout the city. Some residents had legitimate complaints from vandalism to theft, but most were mere annoyances. Miles wondered how long he would be able to hold up with either the heat or the state of mind everyone seemed to be sharing. He had only graduated from the academy at the beginning of summer, and he was sick of wasting his time on the force doing pointless things like he had that afternoon, telling Mr. Thompson he could no longer sweep the dust from his storefront onto Ms. Malick's sidewalk due to property lines and common courtesy. He personally didn't see what the dispute was about, considering it was just a little dust, but both Mr. Thompson and Ms. Malick had plenty to say on the matter.

He swiped his arm across his brow, feeling fresh beads of sweat replace the ones he wiped away almost immediately. Tucking the hanky back in his breast pocket, the radio gave a squawk of static as Base called him.

"This is Miles," he replied into the handset.

"I've got a complaint coming in from St. Paul Avenue from Mrs. Menerva Crawford," Base said. "She says her neighbor's yard is crawling with cats, and she wants something done about it."

"What's she want us to do about it?" He rubbed at his brow with one hand, flicking the sweat away before it could sting his eyes.

"I told her we weren't equipped for the removal of animals, but she keeps demanding someone come out to deal with this mess. This is the fourth time she's called today, and she's prepared to continue calling for as long as it takes. She told me so herself."

Miles sighed to himself. "If she calls back, tell her I'm on my way."

"Copy."

He snapped the handset back onto the tack next to the radio and pulled on to Front Street. He crossed from Front to Prospect and over to Blanton, leaving the business district behind him. He couldn't help but notice the toll the heat was taking on the lawns across town. The grass was brown. The trees were losing their leaves. A few even looked like they were dying. The place was starting to look like a wasteland, and it was beginning to feel like one, too. There were fewer people on the streets. Most people, it seemed, were holed up inside their homes, hiding from the heat as though that were possible.

Miles watched the few leaves that still clung to the branches of trees as he drove by. There was no wind to speak of, and on the rare occasion that there was one, it didn't seem to do much more than move the heat around with more force and more anger than he thought a breeze capable of.

He turned onto St. Paul Avenue. He didn't need James from base to give him an address; most every officer in Tulsa had to deal with Mrs. Crawford every once in a while. She was a bitter old woman, although they didn't seem to come in any other variety. She had a bone to pick with each and every one of her neighbors about something. Even Miles, however, had to note that there was something worth complaining about when he pulled up to her house.

He was just climbing out of the car when she came powering down her porch steps, pointing an arthritic, crooked finger at him.

"It's about time someone comes out here," she was saying as he closed the driver's side door and met her on the sidewalk. "Do you have any idea how many times I have called to report Mrs. Dancy's cats in the last two months?" She paused only to sneeze into the handkerchief she kept in her hand. "Fifty-three times, not including the four times I rang today. And you know how many times anyone has come out to investigate? Exactly twice, today being one of them."

"Menerva," he began, but that crooked finger was back in his face.

"It's _Mrs. Crawford_ to you, Officer."

"Mrs. Crawford," he continued without missing a beat, "I understand that the number of cats Mrs. Dancy owns is a nuisance, and something should be done, but there is no law in Tulsa regarding the number of animals a person is allowed to own." Glancing at the overgrown mess that was Mrs. Dancy's yard and the stench that was coming from it, he added, "Although I think there should be."

"You're darned right there should be. I don't think I am asking for any mountains to be moved. I'm just asking that she get those beasts under control and out of my gardenias once and for all."

More eager to get Menerva off everyone's back at the station than to settle a silly squabble between two grown women, Miles nodded. "I agree, ma'am. I will go speak to her."

She nodded once, curtly before she coughed into her hanky again.

"Are you feeling all right, ma'am?"

"It's just this summer cold that's going around. I'm sure I caught it from these mangy cats that have been roaming around."

He nodded, knowing there had been some sort of virus going around. He luckily hadn't caught it, but it seemed to be running rampant with the older folks around the city. He hoped it stayed away from him because there wasn't anything worse than the flu in the middle of summer.

Menerva crossed her bony arms firmly across her chest as she planted her feet on the sidewalk. He glanced back as he made his way over to the Dancy property, and it was obvious that Menerva had every intention of witnessing the exchange.

He opened the rickety gate, cringing as the rusted hinges protested. The number of cats roaming the un-manicured lawn surprised him, and he had to nudge a few out of the way with the toe of his boot. The smell he noticed earlier intensified as he stepped onto the porch. Two cats were sitting by the door, pawing at the wood impatiently. He noticed a handful of bowls sitting on the porch, all empty of both food and water.

Mrs. Dancy attended the same church Miles' mother did, and she had always spoken highly of her, having known her through bingo. She was a widow, terribly hard of hearing, and had an affection for cats that bordered on obsession. His mother said it was merely a kind heart trying to fill the void of a dead husband, and Miles had no reason to disagree.

He knocked heavily on the door and spoke even louder. "Mrs. Dancy?"

He repeated the actions once, twice more, louder each time. After the third time, he became a little more concerned than he had been before.

Testing the doorknob with one hand, he was surprised to find the door unlocked. He pushed it open a couple of inches and called the woman's name again, only to get no response once more. The cats at his feet surprised him with their will and determination to get inside, pushing the door hard enough for him to lose his grip on the knob. The door stood open a couple of feet, and he felt guilty in spite of his police uniform and badge.

"Mrs. Dancy," he called once more. "The door was unlocked, and I'm coming in. I would like to talk to you about your cats." The two that had pushed their way inside were leading the way for a handful of the other cats. One brushed by his leg as he stepped inside. "Mrs. Dancy?"

The stench that had tickled his nose outside intensified tenfold as he stepped into the house, but he couldn't put his finger on what the smell could be. He assumed the vast number of cats was the culprit but the deeper he got into the house, the less likely it seemed to be the only factor.

"Mrs. Dancy?"

He pulled his hanky out of his pocket once more and used it to cover his nose and mouth. The taste of sweat on his lips was better than the rancid smell of the house. When he reached the sitting room in the back of the house and saw the old lady sitting in the armchair, his stomach twisted.

Miles fought the urge to bolt. He was a police officer now, and if he had any hope of a career, he couldn't lose it now. Looking around the mess of a room, he tried to figure out what his next step should be. He needed to go back to his car to call the station for back up. As he headed back to the front door, he realized it wasn't back up he needed, it was an ambulance.

Turning around, he ended up kicking a few cats as he made his way back to the sitting room. Only, Mrs. Dancy wasn't sitting anymore. She was standing in the doorway, staring at him, a distant look on her face.

It scared him more than he would have admitted to anyone, but he let out a sigh of relief. He really didn't want a friend of his mother's to be the first dead body he ever saw up close.

He walked a little closer to her, trying to explain why he was in her house, but she just stared at him. When he was within arms length, she attacked.

XXX

Miles found himself crumpled next to the porch swing, vomiting. He didn't know what had happened in those few quick seconds. The only thing he knew was the gun in his shaking hand was still warm from firing it. He hadn't meant to shoot her, but the way she attacked him wasn't natural. His eyes fell away from the smoking gun and onto the bloody patch of fabric on his arm. He pulled the shreds of clothing away from the bite wound and remembered why he shot her.

XXX

Darry sat down at the table after he ate dinner and began going through the bills. Running a hand through his hair, he wondered how he was going to make money start appearing as fast as it had been disappearing. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, wiping the sweat away. Just minutes after a refreshing shower, he was already sweating again.

Pony walked in the door a few moments later, flopping onto the couch before sending an apologetic glance Darry's way. He had a stack of books that he dumped on the coffee table.

"You missed dinner again, kiddo," he said, shuffling the bills around, trying to figure out where he was going to start. "I just had leftovers if you want the same. The oven might still be warm to heat them up."

The kid leaned his head against the back of the couch. "Who needs an oven? I can just toss it on the sidewalk outside and fry it. When's this gonna be over? It's too damn hot."

Darry shook his head. "Hell if I know. We had two guys pass out cold at work today. At least they were on the ground when it happened. It's gotten so bad that Carter's giving us _mandatory_ breaks every thirty minutes. It's killing him a little each time he announces them, but I guess no foreman out there wants one of his men falling off a roof."

Pony grinned. "That'd probably shut down business for a day or so. He'd want that even less."

"Where were you?"

"Went to the library. I had gone down to the college earlier to get a list of the books I'll need for my English course."

"Looking forward to it?"

He nodded before he got up to turn on the television. "Nervous, I guess, but I think it'll be fun. At least a change of pace from high school."

Darry nodded and looked from the bills to the balance of the checkbook. He was proud of Ponyboy. He had really stepped up and raked in a few needed scholarships to attend the Oklahoma University. He even had a job with the bookshop downtown to pay for the little bit of tuition that wasn't covered by the grants.

The television buzzed from channel to channel until Pony finally stopped on the news and sat back down.

" … looks as though this heat wave is here to stay," he heard the weatherman say, disappointment in his voice. "We have had temperatures nearing and, at times, exceeding 100 degrees for the last two weeks. The humidity is only increasing the temperatures and generally making things miserable for everyone out there."

Darry scoffed a little. "Tell me something I don't already know," he muttered under his breath.

"Just like most of our stories this evening have revolved around the weather we are currently experiencing," the newscaster said, "we have a report in North Tulsa this evening with Lieutenant Kehres of the Tulsa Police Department."

"Due to these extreme temperatures, we have seen a rise in criminal activity around Tulsa. Everyone needs to keep an eye out for their friends, family and neighbors. Another thing we especially need to do is watch out for our elderly residents. With the weather so dangerously high, check in on your neighbors. If you haven't heard from someone in a day or so, call them or go see them. It may seem like a nuisance, but there have been a tragic number of deaths and illnesses related to this heat."

"You ever remember it being this hot, Darry?" Pony asked.

"No," he said, as the reporter with the officer concluded his story in North Tulsa and sent it back to the man in the studio. "A few days, sure. Not this long. Never this long before."

He walked over to the storm door. The windows had been open every hour of every day for the last month at least, but since the heat wave had taken over the town, he hadn't seen the curtains move once. "Ain't never seen the wind so quiet before."

He looked out onto the street. The sky was still light, but the sun was setting. It wouldn't bring any relief to the heat of the day. Just darkness.

XXX

Darry tossed and turned but finally gave up trying to sleep. He decided the dogs in the neighborhood must have had a powwow earlier in the day with every single one of them making a pact to bark all night long. He had tried to block out the noise with his pillow, but it was too hot even for blankets. A pillow on his face would suffocate him for sure.

He sat up and looked out the window to see if he could find anything out of the ordinary that would be making the dogs on St. Louis Avenue bark like the devil was after them. He couldn't see anything strange.

Walking into the hallway, he stepped over the creaky floorboards he knew of as he made his way to the kitchen. He noticed the front door was open and so was Ponyboy's bedroom door. He walked a little further into the living room and noticed his little brother standing out on the porch. He went to the kitchen for a glass of water and then walked outside.

Pony would have jumped out of his shoes had he been wearing any when the storm door creaked open. Darry clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry. What are you doing up so late?" Darry asked. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Too hot and miserable."

Darry took a gulp of water before he nodded. "Yeah, same here."

Pony glanced from Darry back out into the street. "I wonder what's got all the dogs riled up tonight."

"I don't know. Maybe there's a raccoon in somebody's yard, and it got all the other ones excited."

"It's kind of creeping me out."

Darry smirked a little and squeezed the back of his brother's neck a little until he wiggled away from him. It used to send Pony into a fit of giggles every time their dad did it. It still elicited a smile from the kid.

"I'm serious," Pony said, the grin fading. He nodded toward the dark street in front of them. "There's just something weird going on here lately."

"I think you've been reading too many books lately, kiddo."

"You don't feel it?"

"Feel what?"

Pony shrugged a little.

"For someone majoring in English," Darry said, "you sure don't have a way with words sometimes."

"There's something out there."

"I think you're just scaring yourself." He didn't add that there was so much confidence in Pony's voice that Darry felt a little nervous himself.

"Maybe it's the heat. It's going to my head."

He nodded. "It's going to everybody's head. Get some sleep."

Pony walked back inside and Darry began to follow him, pausing for a moment to look for whatever his brother had been seeing on that dark street. He couldn't see a thing, but he didn't think Pony was entirely wrong. There was definitely something weird, and he could feel it. The hair on his neck stood on end, and Darry fought off a chill that ran down his spine in spite of the suffocating heat of the night.

XXX

Darry wasn't sure when he finally fell asleep, but he suddenly woke with a start at 3 in the morning. He couldn't figure out what woke him up as he lay there listening, and then he realized the dogs had finally stopped barking. Their neighborhood wasn't a rowdy one; it was full of older folks that mostly kept to themselves and dogs that occasionally barked no matter what the time was. However, this total silence was different from anything he had ever heard before.

He pulled the curtain back a little ways and looked outside, not sure what he was looking for, but coming up empty anyway. The porch light in the back didn't illuminate much other than the steps to the back door, but as far as he could tell, it all looked pretty normal. He looked back at the clock, knowing he would have to be up in a little over four hours to get ready for work, but there was something that was still working its way around his brain. Pony's words from earlier were still lodged in his mind; there was something strange going on.

He slipped on his shoes and walked into the hallway. Pony's door was open, and he was sitting in his desk chair next to the window, staring at something Darry couldn't see.

He knocked lightly on the doorframe so as to not startle him again, but Pony seemed to know he was standing there.

"Do you believe me now? There's something going on out there."

Darry cleared his throat and sat on the edge of the bed near Pony. "Yeah. But what is it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I wish Soda were here, though. I'd feel better if we were all together."

He squeezed his little brother's shoulder, wondering if that was what had been bothering him earlier. It had been a rough few months, but things had been different between the two of them. Soda's death in Vietnam had only brought them closer together when Darry feared it might make things worse.

"Are you having nightmares again?" he asked quietly.

Pony looked over at Darry before looking back outside. "Nightmares? No. I haven't even gotten to sleep yet."

"You better get some soon. You'll feel better if you do."

He finally nodded. "Yeah, I guess I'll try."

Darry gave Pony's shoulder another squeeze before he stood up and walked out into the hallway. After one last look at his brother sitting there, looking both scared and thoughtful, Darry decided to spend the rest of the night sleeping in his armchair.

He woke up the next morning to find Pony asleep on the couch.

XXX


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews on the first chapter. I hope you enjoy this one.**_  
_

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns _The Outsiders_. Mumford and Sons owns "After the Storm."  
**

* * *

_Night has always pushed up day  
You must know life to see decay_

Darry parked the truck and walked up to the house, his work belt slung over his shoulder. All day long he thought about everything that had been on the news the night before and everything Pony had been talking about. He admitted early that morning that he had let his imagination run away with him, but Darry didn't tell him that he was starting to think he was on to something.

It didn't help that everybody at work was talking about the rash of deaths in the last couple of weeks. Nearly all were related to the heat, although a couple guys started talking about rumors that a few were mysterious. Darry ignored them as he worked, knowing they liked to gossip more than a bunch of high school girls, but he couldn't keep it off his mind entirely.

It occurred to him as they were painting the renovated building downtown that he hadn't seen Mr. Clarkson in a couple of days. It wasn't all that unusual; the man typically had his groceries delivered to his home, and he rarely had visitors. However, it was odd that he hadn't been outside to trim the hedges along the property line he shared with the Curtises. Ever since Darry could remember, the man was out there every two days with a pair of trimmers, cutting off imaginary stems that only he could see.

As he walked up to the house, he noticed that this time there actually were stray branches popping out of the bushes. They were barely visible and, by anyone else's judgment, the bushes were still well-kept. To Mr. Clarkson, however, they were in utter disarray. That concerned Darry.

He walked into the house and tossed down his work belt. Pony was sprawled out on the couch and the television was on, an episode of _Bonanza_ on the screen.

"Hey," he mumbled, not moving from his spot.

"How was work?" Darry asked.

"Slower than molasses. Nobody wants to be in a stuffy bookstore in this weather so they sent me home a couple hours early. You're home kind of late."

"Yeah, with all these mandatory breaks, I think we're going to be stuck working overtime to keep up with everything." He dropped his tool belt on the coffee table. "I'm gonna go over and check on Mr. Clarkson. I haven't seen him out in a couple of days."

Pony glanced back at him and raised his eyebrows. "Good luck. He'll probably run you off the porch with a shotgun if you're not careful."

Darry smirked at his kid brother. "Yeah, yeah."

He walked back outside and headed over to the house next door. He wasn't entirely brushing Pony off; Mr. Clarkson had a reputation as the neighborhood's curmudgeon. He had yelled at Darry and his friends more than enough times to keep them skirting the man's yard as much as they possibly could. It was bad enough that once their dad had to go have a talk with the old man. Darry wasn't sure what it was about, but he assumed it had to do with the fact that the kids were just kids, and they didn't mean any harm. It didn't keep Clarkson from yelling at them just as much as he had before, but Darry's dad simply shrugged and told him to avoid the man as much as possible.

He reluctantly stepped onto the wooden porch and knocked on the door. He looked out at the sky, the sun beginning to set. Darry certainly didn't like these long days they were pulling at work, but money was money.

He knocked again. There was no response, and he suddenly felt a little anxious.

"Mr. Clarkson?" he called. "It's Darry Curtis from next door. Are you home?"

He didn't want to come right out and ask the old man if he was still alive, but he was beginning to believe the news reports were right. Darry knocked once more, feeling guilty he hadn't come over earlier in the week.

He tried the doorknob and frowned when he found it was locked. He knocked again, but there was still no response. He pushed the rickety rocking chair out of the way and looked into the front window. Curtains blocked most of his view, but what he could see looked like a wreck. He had never been inside the man's house, but considering how meticulous he was about his yard work, the sight inside had Darry worried. He tried the window, but it wouldn't budge. He thought about going back home and calling the police to check on him, but a part of him felt responsible, and he needed to check for himself.

He walked around the house and tried the back door, but it was locked as well. As he walked around the side of the house that wasn't shared with the Curtis home, he nudged at one of the low-lying basement window. One pushed open with a squeak, and he bent down to look inside. The smell of mildew greeted him, and he squinted to see inside the dark room. He couldn't see much, and he glanced around before he squirmed inside the window. He felt like a vandal, entering someone's house like this. When his feet hit the basement floor, he was sure he would turn around to find a shotgun pointed in his face. He was surprised when he turned to find nothing at all except a dark, dank basement.

He walked carefully up the stairs to the first level, wondering how exactly he should announce his arrival to Mr. Clarkson. Did he just call out for the man? That would likely startle him. Did he just sneak up on him? That would probably startle him even more. Did he peak in the rooms until he found the old man – hopefully alive and well – and then just split without saying anything?

It was times like these he wished he had an older brother that would chastise him for not using his head. How did anyone ever end up in these situations, anyway? He pushed open the door to the first floor, wondering what part of him thought this was a good idea.

XXX

Tim was outside of Buck's, sitting at one of the tables a few of Buck's workers had dragged out a couple weeks back. There was no breeze to speak of, but it was better than sitting in the roaster oven that was the roadhouse. Tim had done it the first night of the damned heat wave, but after just one beer, he felt sick. One girl had fallen hard off a bar stool, and he hadn't stuck around. Falling flat on his face on Buck Merril's dirty floor wasn't his idea of a good time.

Tonight, he sat there out of sheer boredom, although even the most die-hards of the roadhouse had found somewhere better to waste their time. The sweat soaked straight through his white t-shirt. He didn't bother greasing his hair anymore; it seemed pointless. His hair hung heavy, slicked back with sweat. It was the same way he had felt for the last two and a half weeks, and he was about to lose his mind. He didn't really give a damn how he looked, but feeling miserable made him edgy, and being edgy made him lose his cool.

"I can't fucking stand this," he muttered to Donnie.

"The beer?"

"No, this goddamned heat."

Donnie nodded and finished his beer with a grimace. "I think it's fucking with people's heads."

"It's sure fucking with mine."

"It's got everybody all amped up for trouble is what it's doing," Buck said, clearing the empties off the table. "Everybody's so high-strung, but it's too hot to do anything legal. Should be perfect for all you hoods around here."

"Except that the cops are buzzing around Tulsa right now," Tim muttered. "Me and Curly had our eyes on a couple of real nice cars down on the south side. The first time we went, I got pulled over for speeding. The second time we tried, my fucking taillight was out and I got a ticket for that, too."

"Did you ever make it there?" Buck asked.

"I may be a criminal, but I'm not stupid. Those were enough signs to convince me it wasn't worth it."

"Good thing it wasn't Curly in charge," Donnie said with a grin. "He'd have gone anyway and all of Tulsa's finest would have probably been waitin' for him."

"Well, don't worry about that. Curly ain't never gonna be in charge of anything."

"He sure as hell don't have the common sense to be out here where it's a little cooler," Buck said, heading for another table.

"What?" Tim asked. "You mean that idiot's inside?"

Buck pointed to the roadhouse with a handful of empty beer bottles. "He's playing pool. Better keep an eye on him and make sure he don't die of heat stroke. I ain't cleaning up that mess."

"He's such a goddamn idiot," he said, slamming his beer bottle on the table.

"You oughta just let him stay in there. Serves him right," Donnie appraised.

Tim considered it, but just like Buck said, he was amped up and needed something to do. Beating the snot out of his little brother was better than nothing else.

XXX

Steve floored it down the Ribbon while Two-Bit howled beside him. It felt like that week in the fall three years before; his whole world was crumbling around him again. It had barely been three months since he had gotten word of Sodapop's death in Vietnam, and he couldn't stop having nightmares about it. The same thing happened every time: Steve was in 'Nam with his best friend, and they were walking through the jungles. There was a gunshot that rocked Steve right off his feet. Soda knelt beside him, trying to save him, but he just couldn't. He always woke up in a cold sweat, guilt eating him alive that he was safe at home. He couldn't get away from the feeling that was gnawing at his gut, that if he had been there with Soda, maybe he could have saved him somehow. It was dumb and he knew as much, but that didn't make it any easier to sleep at night.

It didn't help that the typical heat of August in Oklahoma had intensified exponentially in the previous weeks with no sign of cooler temperatures in their future. It had him on edge, and it made him wonder if that was what Soda had to live in while he was in Vietnam.

"If you get stuck at another of these lights," Two-Bit said when Steve hit the breaks at another red light, "I'm gonna lose my mind. It's too hot to be stopped out here. This is the only breeze I've felt in a month. This weather is making me sick."

"Maybe that's from all the bugs you've been inhaling with your head stuck out the window. Don't drool on my seat, okay, Buddy?"

Two-Bit grinned. "Ain't any bugs left out there. Just about everything's dead from this heat."

Boy, wasn't that the truth? Just about all the grass in his front lawn was dead, not that it really bothered him. It just meant he didn't have to mow the grass every week like his old man expected him to. It was making everything in his neighborhood ugly, though; even uglier than it had already been. Everything was brown and dead; it creeped him out, seeing everything dry up so fast and die away like that. It made him feel like maybe he was next.

He just nodded though.

The light turned green, and Steve followed closely behind the car behind him until there was enough room for him to pass. He had barely made it up to thirty-five before he had to stop at the next light. Two-Bit cursed up a storm.

"Next one," Steve said. "I'm blowing through the next light. I can't fucking stand this."

"What's eating you tonight?" he asked, taking a swig from the beer can in his hand. "Besides the heat, I mean."

Steve shrugged. "Everything. Evie's avoiding me. I think she wants to break up."

"Maybe she's pissed you haven't asked her to marry you yet."

The light turned green and he hit the gas, glancing over at Two-Bit. "What are you talking about?"

He looked at Steve like he was an idiot. "Are you kidding me? Everybody we went to school with is married by now. It's time, buddy. Besides, you guys have been dating since you were about twelve, ain't you?"

He shot him a glare. "It ain't been that long. I don't see what the hurry is. Everything's just fine the way it is right now."

"Well, you know how girls are. They get all antsy over this kind of thing. Who can understand 'em?"

Steve was about to answer but the light ahead had turned yellow. He looked over at Two-Bit who grinned at him. Steve floored it.

There were a couple honks from the cars at the intersection, but he didn't slow down for another block, Two-Bit leaning out the window, hooting and hollering. Steve leaned his head out the window a ways. It felt about like sticking his head into a hot oven, but at least the air was moving. He drifted a little as he did so, jerking the car back between the lines.

The yip of the siren behind him caused him to jump a little, and he pulled his head back inside the car when the red and blue lights started screaming behind him.

"Fuck," Steve muttered, slowing to a crawl before he turned down a side street. "Shit."

The cop took his sweet time coming up to the car and took the liberty of shining his flashlight in their faces.

"You boys were going a little fast back there, weren't you?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Sorry about that," Steve said.

"I also couldn't help but notice that you ran a red light, and you were swerving."

"Yes, sir. Sorry again."

He didn't say anything, just swept his light over the boys and across the backseat of the car. He raised an eyebrow about something. "Mind getting out of the car, gentlemen?"

Steve looked over at Two-Bit as they both slowly got out of the car. "Is there a problem?"

The officer kept his flashlight shining on the floor of the backseat and gestured for Steve to take a look. He sighed when he saw Two-Bit's empty beers.

"Been drinking, boys?"

"No, sir," Steve replied, but from the way Two-Bit staggered around the car, he knew it wasn't going to hold much weight.

The cop nodded, a smirk on his lips. "Sure, son."

XXX

Tim's scowl deepened when he walked inside the roadhouse. The place seemed to work like an oven, holding tight to the heat in spite of the open windows and the fact that the sun had set well over an hour before.

Sure enough, Curly was playing pool with some kid from Brumly.

"What's the matter with you?" Tim demanded, walking over to the table.

Curly glanced back at his brother before he sunk a ball in the corner pocket. "Just havin' a little fun."

Tim noticed the wad of cash on the corner of the table, and Curly offered a wink that the kid on the other side of the table couldn't see.

He shook his head at his little brother but gestured for him to continue. It looked like Curly was about to wipe the kid clean which was a little funny considering Curly wasn't all that great at pool.

Leaning against the bar, Tim watched the game continue. He looked over his shoulder when he heard Buck mumbling. He stood a little straighter when he watched an old tramp follow him inside.

Buck walked behind the bar and rummaged around until he came up with his box of room keys. He dug through them until he pulled out the key to Room 5.

"This one's up the stairs, all the way at the end of the hall on the right. The bathroom's at the other end."

The bum held out his hand, but Buck kept it tight in his fist.

"That'll be fifteen for the night. Twenty-five if you rent it for two nights."

The old man looked dazed but nodded. When he rustled his jacket around to reach in his pocket, Tim turned his head against the smell. He knew nobody in the whole town could smell all that great considering the heat, but the bum smelled like he was rotting from the inside out.

When he finally shuffled up the stairs, Tim turned to Buck.

"Tell me you're gonna burn those sheets after he sleeps in that bad or I ain't never renting a room from you again."

"Trust me, Shepard. You don't smell like a bed of roses yourself."

"Nobody in the world could smell as bad as that guy does."

Buck didn't argue and held up the money as if it were worth any bad smell the world had to offer. For him, it probably was.

XXX

Darry didn't see much other than the mess he spotted when he first looked through the window. He heard faint voices in one of the rooms to his right, but he could tell by the low tone that they were coming from the television. There were no lights on inside the house, but it wasn't nearly as dark as the basement.

He cleared his throat. "Mr. Clarkson? I'm really sorry to barge in on you like this, but my brother and I were worried about you."

It was a blatant lie; Pony was even more scared of the old man than Darry was and that was saying a lot.

He walked carefully into the next room where he heard the television set, stepping over trash that littered the floor. There was an overturned coffee table that Darry righted before he stepped into the empty living room.

There was a newscast on, and it appeared to be breaking news. The volume was turned down so low that he had to hold his breath to hear what they were saying, and from the images they showed, the information was vital.

"As you can see, this outbreak has become very dangerous for everyone involved. It is recommended that everyone stay inside their homes and lock their doors. It seems this has affected people in unprecedented ways, causing them to react dangerously to those they come into contact with. One man narrowly escaped such an attack."

The camera showed a man who looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. His eyes skittered from the camera to the man behind it and back to the camera again.

"He didn't seem to recognize me. He didn't seem to know who I was. He came after me like an animal, and I didn't know what to do. There didn't seem to be a person left inside his body, just a rabid animal."

The reporter was back in front of the camera. "The Tulsa Police Department promises to keep its residents informed, but again, they request all to stay in their homes."

He was staring so intently at the television screen that he barely heard his name being yelled outside. Recognizing Pony's voice and the panic that filled it, he turned to make his way outside. He came face to face with Old Man Clarkson, and he let out a gasp.

"I'm so sorry to intrude like this, sir," he said, taking a step back because of their close proximity. He had never known old people to smell pleasant, but he was having a hard time not visibly recoiling from the old man's stink.

Clarkson didn't say anything, he just walked toward Darry.

"I didn't mean any harm, Mr. Clarkson," he went on. "We were just worried about you. We haven't seen you for a few days, and I wanted to make sure you were all right."

The man made a guttural noise that almost didn't sound human and lunged for Darry. He barely dodged out of the way, tripping over the rug on the floor. He scrambled to his feet and raced through the house. It was built nearly identical to his own, so besides the obstacles in his path, he made it to the door quickly. In his panic, he fumbled with the locks, and as he heard Clarkson running in his direction at a speed that no elderly person should ever be able to attain, he finally got the door open. He slammed it as fast and hard as he could and ran straight into Ponyboy, sending them both stumbling down the porch steps.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Darry grabbed him by the shirt collar and helped him to his feet, all but dragging him along behind him as he heard Clarkson pounding desperately on the door behind them. The doorknob was rattling, but he didn't seem to be able to turn it. It didn't matter; Darry wasn't sticking around to see if he figured it out.

Pony grabbed onto his forearm to wrench himself free from his grasp. Darry reluctantly let go of him.

"Come on," he hissed, leading the way back home.

Pony was hot on his heels as they ran inside.

"Lock the door," he instructed. "Close the windows and lock them. I'll check the back."

There weren't any questions, and Darry ran to the back of the house. He snapped the lock on the back door and slammed each window closed as he made his rounds. He rushed to his parents' bedroom and threw open the closet. He shoved things out of the way, searching for what he knew was back there. He finally came up with the case for his dad's shotgun and dug around the top of the shelf for the shells he knew were up there.

His hands were shaking, and it took a couple tries, but he finally loaded the gun and walked back out to the living room.

He could hear the pounding before he left the bedroom, and he steadied the gun in his arms as he walked down the hallway. When he reached the living room, he saw Pony sitting against the door, a frightened look on his face. Through the dirty glass in the door, he could see Clarkson on the other side, fists flying as he pounded against the door.

"Pony," Darry whispered. "Move right now."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: S.E. Hinton owns _The Outsiders_ and The Gaslight Anthem owns "Drive."**_  
_

* * *

_And the only thing we know  
Is it's getting dark and we better go  
And the only thing we say  
Are the despairs of the day_

Two-Bit leaned his head against the cement wall of the drunk tank. It was cool against his burning skin and swimming head, and it felt good. He had already been sick twice in the small toilet in the corner of the cell, and he closed his eyes against the wave rising in his throat again.

Drinking without eating hadn't been a good idea, as Steve had told him several times that evening, and then to mix it with the heat outside was just plain stupid. He knew that much. What else was there to do, though?

The rickety metal fan on the other side of the bars offered a welcome breeze, although it seemed to just be pushing around the hot air. It was nice enough of the officer behind the desk to set it up for him. Two-Bit pretended it was for him, anyway, instead of just to blow away the stench of his vomit.

He rubbed at his head and willed himself not to puke again.

"I swear to God," Steve muttered beside him, "if you throw up again, you're gonna be sorry."

"I'm already sorry," he replied, eyes still closed.

"Quiet in there," the cop muttered from his desk where he was working on paperwork.

He felt Steve slump beside him, and he lifted his head.

"If you really don't wanna spend the night here, you can always call your old man to bail you out."

Steve shot him a nasty look, but it shut him up. Two-Bit figured as much. As unappealing as the drunk tank was to Steve, it had to be better than having his old man on his back about getting arrested in the first place.

It didn't shut him up for long, though.

"This is bullshit." He stood up and walked over to the bars. "This is a big misunderstanding."

The officer didn't lift his head, and Steve walked back over to the bench.

"What's the big deal?" Two-Bit asked. "It's a bed."

"I have a bed. It's at my house."

Two-Bit closed his eyes again. It was funny how a night could go from okay to not so hot in just a matter of minutes.

XXX

Curly had finally wiped the floor with the Brumly kid and was pocketing the cash.

"Not bad," Tim appraised.

His idiot brother swiped at his face with a ratty handkerchief and gave him a grin. "Bet you didn't know I was so good at pool."

"_You_ didn't know you could get lucky at pool every now and then."

Curly shrugged. "Same thing. I doubled my money. That ain't bad."

Tim nodded to the door. "Let's get out of here. It's hotter than hell in here, and that bum has the whole place smelling to high heaven."

Curly put down the pool stick on the table and started to follow Tim to the door when a scream ripped through the roadhouse.

One of Buck's worker's had been manning the bar to make sure nobody swiped anything while everyone was outside, and Tim heard him cock the shotgun that Buck kept for emergencies.

"The fuck was that?" Curly asked.

Tim almost tripped over the kid's feet, he was standing so close. He gave him a shove to keep his distance, but neither of them could respond before Buck came running into the place.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"I think that bum you rented a room to is getting his money's worth," Tim responded, grabbing an empty beer bottle from the bar and smashing it on the edge of the wood.

Buck paused long enough to glare at the mess he made before he grabbed the gun from Nick behind the bar. Tim wasn't crazy about being involved in the whole situation, but he was already there, and the weight of the busted bottle felt good in his hand. It would feel even better to use it on somebody.

"What do you want me to do, Tim?"

Curly looked nervous standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Just stay put."

XXX

Pony was scrambling to get out of the way when Old Man Clarkson's fist slammed through the glass of the door. Blood dripped down the wood from where he cut himself pulling his hand back through.

"Mr. Clarkson," Darry said, walking slowly toward the door, speaking loudly. "You need to get off our porch, do you hear me?"

The only response was another fist through the busted window.

"If you don't get off our property … " He stopped when he found he couldn't finish the sentence.

Clarkson didn't seem concerned with any sort of threat as he slammed himself against the door. Darry swallowed hard at what he was about to do. He pulled the hammer back on the gun and placed the barrel through the opening of broken glass.

He glanced back at his little brother to tell him to cover his ears and close his eyes when he realized Pony was already doing both. He turned his attention back to the person outside and fired the gun without further hesitation. He opened the door after Clarkson fell, and then he waited a brief moment for any kind of movement. He didn't see any, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

"Pony?"

"Yeah?" His brother's voice was quiet and timid.

"I need you to call the police. Can you do that?"

Pony didn't answer, but Darry heard him lift the receiver and dial the number. "What do you want me to tell them?"

"Tell them that whatever they were warning about on that newscast … Mr. Clarkson has it."

"It's just ringing. Nobody's answering the phone."

"Shit," Darry muttered to himself. He needed to know what to do. He needed to know that Clarkson had whatever was going around and that he hadn't shot the old man in cold blood.

He looked down at the man, the gun feeling sickeningly heavy in his hands. It felt almost like he wasn't really there and instead watching it from somewhere else. Maybe it was denial that he had just shot another human being; maybe it was just a normal reaction.

"Pone, I need you to go to the hall closet and get a bed sheet out of there."

"Darry …"

There was enough concern in that word alone that he had to look up.

"What are you planning on doing?" Pony asked.

"I need to cover him up. I can't just leave him like this."

He stood over the man's body while Pony grabbed a sheet and brought it to him.

"Hang on to this," he said, passing him the gun. Darry struggled to unfold the sheet, but when he finally did, he knelt down to spread it over Clarkson's body.

He felt his heart freeze when Clarkson blinked up at him. His entire body seemed frozen in shock. He tried to scramble back but Clarkson sat up so quickly, he didn't think he'd ever get away from him.

XXX

Steve could only sit for so long before he was back to pacing. He didn't know how Two-Bit could sleep so soundly, but he figured the beer probably helped some.

He just didn't understand how the fuzz could just get away with hauling a couple of innocent kids in for nothing. Maybe not for nothing, he conceded, but running a red light was a mistake, not a criminal offense, and Steve hadn't touched those beers. There were plenty of hoods around town that were probably breaking the law six ways to Sunday, and yet he didn't see a single one of them in the cells around him, just a couple other drunks besides Two-Bit.

He stopped pacing a little when he heard a radio's static from a room down the hall. The cop that had been sitting at the desk in the small room with the cells had gone into the other room earlier – Steve couldn't remember how long he had been gone – and had propped the door open. Steve walked as close to the door as his cell would let him and listened closely when he heard that cop talk into the walkie. He only caught bits and pieces.

" … know why the evening shift … in for debriefing … supposed to be in by …"

The radio squawked a little. Steve looked over at the others in the cells. Nobody flinched. He leaned against the bars, the metal cool under his sweaty palms.

There was static on the radio again, and Steve couldn't make out what the other person was saying.

" … phones are out … what to do …"

Steve strained his ears to catch the words in between but couldn't. He wished there was a clock in the room; it was driving him crazy not knowing what time it was.

XXX

Tim let Buck lead the way upstairs. The way he figured it, Buck owned the place; there wasn't any need for Tim to be a hero.

"Who else has a room tonight?" he asked.

Buck stepped carefully up the stairs. "Jo Dunkleman is the only other one. I ain't rented more than a room or two in the last three weeks because of this goddamn weather."

"You need to stop being so fucking cheap and spring for some air conditioning in this place."

Buck gestured for him to be quiet when they reached the second floor. Tim didn't think it was so much to hear what was going on as it was to keep Buck from admitting he was a cheap bastard.

When Buck headed down the hallway, the second door on the left swung open and hit the wall with a bang that made Tim jump in spite of himself. Jo Dunkleman ran out of the room in such a panic, she slammed right into Buck and the shotgun went off with a bone-rattling pop when he hit the floor.

Jo scrambled up and ran to Tim. He had always kept his distance from her because he knew she had the tendency to make her rounds with most of the guys around town – for a price. She looked panicked, though, and even Tim felt a little sorry for her. He set the broken bottle next to the staircase behind his foot and held onto her upper arms to keep her from falling down the steps.

"Goddamn it," Buck was grumbling as he stood up. Tim glanced down the hall to see plaster still falling from where the shot had gone straight through the ceiling. "What a fucking mess. What the hell's the matter with you, Jo?"

"With _me_?" she snapped, tears streaming down her face. She didn't bother to wipe them away because she was cradling her right arm with her left hand. "What about the crazy people you let stay in this shithole?"

"Was it the old guy?" Tim asked. She nodded, and he could feel her trembling under his hands. "Where is he?"

She looked back at the room she came out of. "I think he's … I think he's dead."

Buck's head snapped back in their direction. "You fucking killed him?"

"He attacked me," Jo snapped. "I hit him with the lamp and when he fell, he hit his head."

Tim looked down at her arm and saw blood seeping through her fingers. "Did he stab you?"

"No. He … he …" She choked back a sob. "He bit me."

"Christ, Buck," Tim said, turning Jo and leading her down the stairs. "If he isn't dead, you better fucking kill the psychopath. And next time, maybe you oughta check out the people you rent rooms to a little better."

"Hey," Buck called after him. "I rent to you, don't I?"

Curly was standing at the foot of the stairs when Tim came down with Jo. "Go outside and grab a chair for her," he instructed, and Curly hopped to it.

He led her over to the bar and asked Nick for a first aid kit. It took some searching, but he finally came back with a box half-full of some things that might, in some really desperate situation, pass for a first aid kit.

"You got anything to sanitize this?" Tim asked. "Peroxide or something? That fucker could've had rabies for all we know."

Jo sniffed a little. "That's not making me feel much better, Tim."

Nick came back with a bottle of liquor. "All I can find."

Tim glanced up at Jo and shrugged a little. "This is gonna burn, but it's sure better than letting this get infected."

She sniffed again and sat back, her eyes turned away from her arm. She finally dropped her left hand, and Tim didn't blame her for not wanting to look at the wound. He turned his head in disgust and swallowed the bile rising to his throat. He took a deep breath through his mouth – he didn't want to know if the stench from the man extended to the bite mark he left on Jo's arm – and poured some of the alcohol onto her arm. She hissed through clenched teeth and muttered some choice words that would have made Curly blush.

"You got a clean towel or something, Nick?"

Nick swore and went back to find one.

"What happened up there?" Curly asked.

Tim looked back to see his brother leaning against the pool table, cue in his hand. He was trying to look cool, but he looked a little green around the edges. He'd probably be losing his lunch if he had actually seen the chunk of flesh missing from Jo's arm. Curly was funny about things when it came to blood. Tim remembered when he passed out cold after he broke his arm climbing that telephone pole. The bone was clean through the skin, and Curly was out like a light.

Before Jo could tell the story again, there was a loud thump upstairs, and Curly pushed himself away from the table.

"What's going on up there?"

Tim looked back at Jo. "Are you sure that guy was dead?"

She shrugged, that terrified look back in her red-rimmed eyes. "He wasn't moving. I nudged him a couple times, but he never moved."

Tim let go of her arm and stood up, walking towards the staircase. He jumped a little when the shotgun fired again, but he knew he wasn't the only one from the way Jo yelped.

XXX

The pop of the shotgun rang in Darry's ears long after Pony set the gun down and came out to help Darry to his feet.

"Do you think he's gone now?" he asked quietly, still hanging on to Darry's arm.

"Go into the bedroom and get a handful of shells. We need to make sure."

His little brother looked up at him, still looking frightened, but he seemed to understand the severity of the situation. He was gone for barely a minute and came back with the shotgun loaded. He aimed at Clarkson but closed his eyes for what seemed like a long time. Darry put his hand on the barrel and pointed it to the ground.

"Go inside," he told him. "You don't have to do this."

"I'm the best shot in this family," he said weakly, repeating what their dad used to always tell him after their hunting trips.

"I know. I'd be dead right now if you weren't."

Pony gave him a half-hearted smile and raised the gun again. After he fired it, Darry put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"What do we do with him now?"

Darry shrugged. It was already dark out, and he wanted the sight of the old man as far away from them as possible. "Do you think you can help me carry him back to his house? We can put him on the porch. I don't want him here."

Pony nodded and reached down for the man. Darry stopped him.

"Make sure you don't touch him. Just hold on to the blanket. We don't know what he has, and we don't need to get it. Just be careful."

Darry nudged at the old man with his foot just in case he wasn't dead this time. When he was satisfied – or content, at the very least – that he wasn't going to open his eyes and come after him again, he motioned for Pony to grab his feet while he took the man's upper body.

They struggled getting him off their porch and through the gate, but they finally got back to Clarkson's porch. Darry tried to ease him down as gently as possible – infected or not, he was still a person and one that Darry had killed – but Pony dropped his feet as quickly as possible.

"Let's get out of here," he said. Darry didn't argue. They hurried back to their house, both of them looking up and down the street. "Do you think there are more?"

Darry realized that not a soul had so much as peeked out their window, even after three shotgun blasts. Whatever was going on wasn't limited to Mr. Clarkson. "Maybe. Let's not stay out here and find out."

Pony picked up the gun at the front door and walked into the kitchen, placing it on the table. He washed his hands thoroughly and roughly, and then moved aside so Darry could do the same.

When he was finished, he looked back to find Pony struggling to push the couch in front of the door. He helped him without a word, and they both collapsed on it in a heap. He looked at the television, a feeling of unease filling his chest as he noticed the slide on the screen. It was the Emergency Broadcast System, and he had never seen it before in his life, the system being used as a warning to threats against the country.

This was one hell of a threat.

"Did you see that news broadcast? Is that why you came over to get me?" Darry asked. They were slumped together, their shoulders touching, and he felt his brother nod. "Thanks for coming to help me."

"Are you okay?"

There was a tremble in his hands that he couldn't shake, but he nodded, too. "Yeah."

"Do we just wait it out?"

Darry had a million thoughts running through his mind, and he picked up the phone off the coffee table. He needed to call the police and tell them what happened. He didn't care if they hadn't been answering when Pony called them. He intended to call until someone picked up the goddamn phone.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: S.E. Hinton owns _The Outsiders_, and Kings of Leon owns "Closer."**

* * *

_Stranded in this spooky town  
Stoplights are swaying and the phone lines are down  
This floor is crackling cold_

Steve felt nervous being stuck behind bars. It had only happened once before, and he had called his old man to bail him out which had been a serious mistake because his old man had not taken the news well. Steve may have an 'attitude problem' as his teachers called it, but he kept his distance from the cops as best he could.

The longer he was stuck in the cell, the more his chest tightened and the more anxious he felt. If he could just see a clock or have his watch back, he would feel a little calmer, but as far as he was concerned, without knowing what time it was, he was going to be stuck in that damn cell for the rest of his miserable life.

Having no real experience in jail – other than those bleak couple of hours he had spent waiting for his old man to pick him up a couple years back – he suddenly found himself concerned about the fact that the only cops he had seen was the one that hauled them in and the other one doing paperwork at the desk. The first left soon after he and Two-Bit were deposited safely behind bars, and since, it had only been the one at the desk. Sure, it was a Friday night, and Tulsa seemed to be losing its collective mind thanks to the heat, but shouldn't they be coming back and forth to the station? Shouldn't he be seeing more than a couple officers at a police station?

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his forehead rested against the bars. He needed to calm down. He was panicking for no good reason. He should still be pissed for what happened, not worried about the well-being of a bunch of asshole cops that thought they could arrest whomever they wanted, whenever they wanted.

The radio squawked again, and it caused him to jump. He opened his eyes as if that would help him to hear better. It didn't. The voice on the other end of the radio came in choppy waves, occasionally drowned out by static completely.

" … mess out here … for back-up but not enough … need reinfor – "

It cut off and from the frantic way the officer was clicking the handset, Steve could tell the whole thing had died somehow.

The cop rushed into the room and headed for the small desk still covered in paperwork.

"I could take a look at the radio if you want," Steve offered, but the older man jumped in surprise when he spoke up.

"You … you need to … sit down and mind your own business," the officer said. He seemed flustered and that made Steve nervous.

He glanced back at his sleeping friend and the other inmates snoring in the other cells. "What's going on out there?"

The cop grabbed his cap from a hook on the wall and pulled it on. "None of your concern."

"Whatever they were saying over the radio didn't sound good."

The cop looked like he wanted to tell Steve to sit down and shut up, but he hesitated and walked closer to the bars. The room wasn't entirely dark, and Steve could make out the cop's name on his tag. Henderson.

"Is there something really wrong out there?" Steve asked.

Henderson shrugged a little. "Have a seat, son. I just need to get out there and hear for myself what they were trying to say over that damn radio."

"I can try to look at the radio, see if there's something wrong with that."

Henderson gave him a funny look, like he was trying to pull one over on him.

"Look," Steve said, glancing around to make sure everybody else was still asleep. "I ain't never been in here before, not overnight like this, and I can't say I like it. I just want something to keep my mind off it. I work down at the DX. I'm pretty good with taking things apart and fixing them. Mostly I work on cars, but I built a transistor radio once for a school project."

"I don't know if I can let you do that," Henderson said, glancing through the open door to the other room. "They'd have my badge if you did something with that to create a ruckus."

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. He thought of something brilliant and looked back at Henderson.

"How about you unplug the handset? Then I just have the radio to fiddle with. That won't cause any trouble."

Henderson shook his head and walked out of the room. Steve sighed to himself and sat down when he heard him go outside and start his car. He perked up a little when he heard the engine turn off and watched the door. He heard Henderson walk back in, then mess around in the larger room. He stood up when the cop came in carrying the CB radio. He had already unhooked the handset and set it on the desk.

"If you do anything to mess this damn thing up more than it already is, I'm gonna be out on my ass faster than you can say Jack Robinson."

Henderson muttered curses as he unlocked the cell and passed the radio to Steve.

He looked it over and examined the bottom. "You have a screwdriver I can use?"

Henderson sighed and walked into the other room. After a few minutes, he came back and passed him the tool.

"If you do something with that screwdriver – use it as a weapon or anything like that – I'll swear in court that you smuggled that in here somehow."

Steve nodded and sat down on the bench. There was enough light coming in from the streetlight outside the window that he could see, but he sure would have liked to have been in the other room under a desk lamp.

He glanced up after he took out the second screw in the bottom of the radio, but Henderson was already gone. He was glad for the distraction and hoped that if he couldn't fix it, they weren't going to blame him for breaking it in the first place.

XXX

"Buck?" Tim called up the stairs. He put a hand on the railing, but Curly said his name.

"Don't go up there." His little brother might not have been so little anymore, but he looked like he was five again from the way he stood there, nervously gripping that pool stick.

Tim nodded once and stepped back. He was about to call for Buck one more time when he heard feet pounding across the hallway. They were moving faster than anything he had ever heard, and if he were anyone else, he would have admitted to being scared. He wasn't anyone else, though, so he stood there, stock-still and unshakeable.

The pounding continued down the stairs, and Tim felt an unfamiliar tremble to his core when the previously dazed, slow-moving tramp came around the corner of the staircase and slammed into the wall at the little landing. He looked wild-eyed and insane, his mouth curled into a tangled snarl, drool and some mix of blood and pus hanging from his lips. Jo let out a scream that brought goose bumps to Tim's arms despite the raging heat that still filled the room.

As much as he wanted to stand there and be the tough hood he knew he was, Tim followed his instinct and backed up when the bum's eyes narrowed in on him. The old man lunged down the stairs, moving so fast that it didn't make any sense. Tim kept backing up until he hit the bar behind him. He realized he left the broken bottle upstairs, and although he had his switch in his back pocket, using it meant the guy was going to have to come closer than he was willing to let him.

The bum was closing the distance faster than Tim could comprehend, and he realized quickly that there was nowhere he could go. There was a sudden snap to his right – a sound he couldn't place – but he couldn't peel his eyes from the sight in front of him. The man was almost two feet from him, and Tim blinked. In that instant, the man stopped with a surprised look in his wild eyes.

Curly was standing between them, and Tim blinked again before he could understand what happened. That was when he noticed the pool stick Curly had speared the guy with. The kid was still holding onto the cue with a death grip when Tim put a hand on his shoulder. That seemed to snap him out of whatever state he was in because he dropped the stick like it was a snake.

"Oh, shit," he mumbled as the tramp fell to the floor. "Oh, shit. Goddamn."

"What the fuck is going on around here?" Nick asked from behind the bar. He hadn't been any help so far, and Tim shot him a glare that shut him up.

"What happened to him?" Jo asked quietly, although she didn't seem to be asking anyone in particular. He glanced back at her, and she had a dazed look on her face. The far-away look in her eyes reminded him of when the bum first walked in the roadhouse.

"I'd be more concerned about what happened to Buck," Tim said, grabbing the box of bandages and rummaging through it until he found two that were big enough to cover the still-bleeding wound on her arm. He noticed his hands were shaking slightly as he wrapped the bandages around her arm, so he did it quickly, careful to keep his hands from touching the wound.

Jo didn't complain that it hurt and, Tim noted as he backed away a little, she didn't seem to even know he was standing there anymore.

"Curly," he asked, not taking his eyes off the girl. "You broke that pool stick in two, didn't you? Where's the other half?"

"Shit," he muttered. "I hit it against the table and the other half went flying … where the hell … here. I got it."

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Tim?"

He took his eyes off Jo and looked at Curly. His brother was looking up the stairs, and he followed his gaze. Buck was standing there, blood oozing from a wound on his neck. Tim looked away too quickly to see if it looked like Jo's bite, but he was positive it was. Buck stood there, a surprised look on his face as he slowly brought his hand up to his neck. His fingers touched the wound, and he seemed confused when he looked at the blood on his hand.

"Get over here, Curly. Slow," Tim warned.

Curly did as he was told, not taking his eyes off Buck as he quietly asked, "What the hell is going on, Tim?"

"We're getting out of here is what." Tim glanced at Jo, who looked like she was starting to hyperventilate. "Whatever this is … I think it's spreading."

"Oh, shit."

"You can say that again."

XXX

The sky was completely black when a news report finally came on the blank television screen.

The camera showed an empty desk before a lone reporter walked into view and sat down. The image of the single person in such a big, empty room scared Darry. He sat up a little when the man began talking.

"We are getting reports into the station that the vast majority of Tulsa's population has either succumbed to this epidemic that is spreading, or they have suffered at the hands of it." He took a shaking breath and held a hand to his mouth to collect himself. His voice shook when he continued. "The best information that could be gathered that this disease shows no signs of slowing. In fact it seems to be getting progressively worse."

He wiped at his brow, and Darry wrung his hands. He was used to seeing the professional news reports from the men at the Tulsa news station. He didn't like this other side of the newscaster, who was one shuddering breath away from tears.

"I don't know that anyone can even see this broadcast, but if you can, you must be safe in your homes. It seems that the best advice I can give is to leave Tulsa as soon as possible. This epidemic is spreading across the state, but it may be possible to outrun it. At the same time, that means leaving your home. I can't guarantee that leaving the city is worth leaving the safety of your homes, nor would I want to try promising that."

There was a thud somewhere in the room the newscaster was in, and he visibly jumped in his seat. It startled both Darry and Pony, too.

"What was that?" Pony murmured.

The newscaster took another deep breath and looked back into the camera. "This studio is currently under attack. This may be the last bit of information that may come your way. I wish it were something more positive."

Another thud. Darry stood up. He didn't know what to do, but he couldn't watch whatever was going to happen by just sitting there like it was some television show. It was a real man sitting in that room by himself.

There was a shudder of metal and a groan as a door somewhere off camera gave way to a great force.

The newscaster kept his head high as he looked directly into the camera. "God bless us all. Be safe."

People came flooding into view of the camera. While some rushed through the room, seeking what Darry could only assume were other people that were not yet infected, the others swarmed the lone reporter. They overwhelmed him, blocking him from the camera, but Darry cringed at the sound of his cries when they overtook him. He walked over to the set in two strides and switched it off. The tubes buzzed for a brief moment before the screen went dark.

Darry looked back at his little brother, still sitting on the couch, still staring at the TV.

"Oh my God," he mumbled.

"No more television," Darry declared. "Got it?"

Pony nodded, but his eyes were still glued to the set. Darry stood guard by the television as if those people on the other end were going to come through the screen any second. The brothers stayed frozen that way for several long minutes. The only thing that shook them from their stances was a distant scream outside.

Darry rushed over to the front window beside Pony, and they both peered out from behind the curtains.

"Do you see anything?" he asked Pony.

Pony pointed down the street. "I think I saw somebody. Yeah, look."

Darry strained to see from his position, but he finally saw the woman running down the street. Mrs. Winters. She was clutching a small overnight case as she ran, a terrified scream escaping her lips every few steps or so. He clamped a hand over his mouth when he saw someone that looked infected running behind her. There were several others that joined in the chase, and they were on top of her before he could comprehend what was happening. She screamed again, and he felt Pony shudder beside him.

"No," Pony was mumbling beside him. "No, they can't just do that. Why are they doing this? They can't just hurt her like that. They're going to kill her."

He kept mumbling things as they watched the scene unfold until Darry grabbed his brother by the arms and shook him until he looked away from the street and at him.

"Pony, we're staying in here, okay? We'll wait this out."

"We need to go help her," he said, looking at Darry like he was out of his mind because that wasn't his first instinct. "Are we just going to let her die?"

"She's already gone," he said. He didn't need to look back outside to know he was right.

"We might be the only people on this street that can help her," Pony snapped, ignoring what Darry was trying to tell him. "We need to do something."

"There's nothing we can do," he said firmly, still gripping his brother's arms tight enough that he knew they would bruise by morning.

"Yes there is!" he said. He hadn't yelled it, but it was loud enough in the silent room to sound like he had screamed.

It startled Darry, and he glanced outside. The gang of people on the street had heard it, or at least something else, and they were looking around for the source. He locked eyes with one of them and shoved Pony to the couch. He sank to the floor and pulled his brother with him, crawling on his knees and forearms to get back to the window.

"Keep quiet," he snapped. He knew, even then, that he shouldn't be mad at Pony for his reaction. He shouldn't blame him for his outburst, but he was mad then. They had been spotted.

XXX

Steve had the CB torn apart in front of him on the floor, and he was carefully checking all of the wires. It was hard to tell if he was fixing it without much light and no handset to check for a signal. That didn't matter. He felt better despite the fact he was sitting on the rock-hard, concrete floor in a hot jailhouse. The phone had been ringing non-stop for what felt like an hour but probably hadn't been any more than five minutes. Steve wondered if the person that was calling would think it was strange that no one was answering. He thought the entire situation that evening had been strange, but then again, he wasn't a familiar face around the police station, so who knew what was odd?

He tightened the last couple of wires and was screwing the bottom back on the radio when he heard a car pull up outside. For a brief moment, he wasn't sure what to do. If it wasn't Henderson coming back, whoever was out there would probably go crazy if they saw him messing around with one of their radios. When a door opened into the station, he shoved the radio under the bench and put the screwdriver in his back pocket.

He relaxed a little when he saw Henderson walk in until he noticed the way he was walking. He seemed to be limping, and from the way he was rummaging around the place, he was desperate to find whatever he was looking for.

"Hey," Steve hissed when Henderson came into the room and opened the drawer to the desk. He didn't want to wake up the other guys in the cells, but he wanted Henderson's attention.

"What?" He didn't look up from the drawer.

"What's going on? Is there something wrong out there?"

"Yeah, you could say something's wrong out there."

Steve stood up, his whole body stiff and sore from sitting on the hard floor for so long. "What's going on? Is it because of the weather or something?"

Henderson looked up at him finally, a book in his hand. He started to say something but was cut off by a loud bang outside. It sounded like it was on the door to the station.

"What was that?"

Henderson looked nervous which wasn't what Steve wanted to see. There was another loud bang outside, and the other men in the cells were starting to wake up.

"It's nothing."

Steve walked as close as he could and leaned in until his face was between two metal bars. "What the hell is happening out there?"

"I don't know. I need to call someone."

"Who? What did you see out there?"

"This is none of your concern. Where's the radio?"

"I'll give it back to you when you tell me what the hell's going on out there."

Henderson narrowed his eyes at Steve, and he glared right back. Something was really wrong outside, and he had no way of protecting himself if he was trapped behind bars.

"You little shit," Henderson said. "If you and Mathews are somehow behind whatever the hell is going on out there …"

There wasn't time to find out what he was planning on doing if that were the case because there was another loud bang on the door, and Steve sank further back into the cell. He didn't have any idea what was going on, but it was obvious that whatever was out there wanted inside.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: S.E. Hinton owns _The Outsiders_, and The Gaslight Anthem owns "We're Getting a Divorce, You Keep the Diner." **

**Sorry for the delay in posting, but thanks so much for all the feedback! I really appreciate every single review you guys leave.  
**

* * *

_On a Sunday morning, the whole crowd assembled  
I've done some things that I'm not too proud of_

Donnie wanted to know what all the ruckus was about inside, but Tim didn't want to waste his breath trying to explain everything that had just happened.

"There's just some crazy shit going on around here," he told him. "We're getting out of here, and I think you better split too."

There was a suspicious look in Donnie's eye. "Did you just hold up the place or something? I thought I heard a gunshot."

"Christ," Tim muttered. He knew if he told him the details of exactly what happened, Donnie would probably spread the word around town that he was losing his mind. He improvised instead. "There was a fight between this bum and Buck. I think the bum's dead. I'm splitting before the cops get here."

Donnie's eyes were wide, and he took a step like he was going to go inside to check it out. Tim grabbed his arm.

"Hey, keep out of it."

"Since when are you one to keep out of anything?"

"Look, it's a mess in there and I think it's gonna get worse. You're gonna be sorry if you get involved."

"Whatever, man. See you later."

Tim let go of Donnie's arm and walked to his car, Curly on his heels.

"Hey, Tim. Look."

Tim followed Curly's nod and watched Donnie walk inside the roadhouse. He shook his head and knocked his fist against the roof of the car. Curly got the hint and climbed in the passenger seat, splintered pool cue in hand.

Throwing gravel, Tim sped out of the parking lot and headed down the road, back toward the Ribbon.

"What the hell happened back there?" Curly mumbled.

"You fucking saved my neck," he replied. He hated giving someone else that much credit, blood relation or not, but it was the God's honest truth. He expected a smug look on Curly's face, and he was surprised when his brother just sat there.

"I killed that guy."

Curly wasn't the type to have a sudden attack of conscience, and Tim slowed the car down a little.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked. He wanted to make sure he wasn't taking whatever was going around home with him.

"I killed him."

"Yeah, you did one hell of a job, too. He was about to kill me."

"We need to go to the cops."

That surprised Tim enough that he slammed on the brakes until they came to a screeching halt in the middle of the country road. Curly braced himself against the dash, but he still looked like he was back at Buck's.

"Listen, kid. I know this is a strange situation, and I ain't never personally killed nobody before, but I know that the one thing you _don't_ do after you kill somebody is go to the cops about it."

Curly seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was in and finally looked at Tim.

"Something was wrong back there," he said, still gripping tightly to that pool stick like it was the only thing keeping him alive. "Somebody needs to know about it. What the hell was with that guy? _Biting_ people? What the fuck? You see that chunk he took out of Buck's neck?"

"You know what they would say if we waltzed down to the Tulsa Police Department and told them there was some guy at Buck Merril's place trying to _eat_ people? They would send us to the loony bin without so much as a second thought. We are not doing that."

"Then we need to call them and leave an anonymous tip or something. All I know is that I don't want this on my shoulders."

Tim glared at Curly, and Curly glared right back. That scared little kid that had been at Buck's was gone now; they were about as equal as they were going to get.

"We'll swing by the Ribbon, and you call from a payphone. Don't give any specifics. Tell them something went down at Buck's place and someone's dead. You don't know what happened, just that something did."

Curly nodded, and Tim straightened out the car and hit the gas. He headed for the Ribbon and didn't look in his rear view once.

XXX

"What's going on?"

Steve looked back at Two-Bit who was rubbing his face.

"There's something wrong outside."

"What is it?"

Steve shook his head and gestured for him to shut up. The guys in the other cells – just three others besides him and Two-Bit – were murmuring amongst themselves. Steve strained to hear what was going on beyond the police station. He jumped when there was another slam at the door and the sound of wood splintering carried through the building as the door gave way.

"What the fuck is going on?" Two-Bit hissed, more at Henderson than Steve.

Henderson simply stood there at the desk, his hand on his gun. There were suddenly pounding feet running through the other room, and it sounded like they were headed straight for them. Steve watched Henderson pull the gun from his holster and cock the hammer.

"Miles," Henderson said in a shaky voice, "I'm warnin' you …"

After that, Steve couldn't figure out what was happening. The only thing he could focus on was the _thing_ standing in the doorway. It wore a police uniform, but it wasn't a person. It couldn't have been; people didn't look like that, act like that, move like that. It was an animal – a bear or a lion – something that hunted and killed.

Even though whatever the thing was that was standing in the doorway was ready to hunt down its prey, it still shook Steve to see Henderson shoot it. He shot it once, then once again, but it didn't fall. It made a low groan, some kind of animalistic growl deep in its throat, before it lunged toward him. It wouldn't have mattered how many shots Henderson could have gotten off; the creature was too fast and he didn't have the aim to match its speed.

Steve felt glued to the wall in the back of the cell. He was aware that all five of the men behind the bars, himself included, didn't make a sound as the thing slammed Henderson into the desk. Steve looked away when he heard Henderson scream. There was snapping and ripping, and Steve closed his eyes when he realized it was bones and flesh he was hearing. He could barely think about anything other than how hot the building was, the smell that suddenly permeated everything around him, and how completely trapped they were.

Just as quickly as the attack had happened, it was over, and the men in the cells were yelling. He wasn't sure what exactly they should be doing, but yelling was not part of his plan. He wasn't ready to die, not in a little jail cell he didn't deserve to be in and not in the same way Henderson did. He kept his eyes away from the creature standing there in front of them, and instead looked at the broken, bloodied body of the officer that had given him the CB radio to fix.

And a screwdriver.

XXX

Darry peeked out the window, barely sitting up enough to see and hoping it wasn't enough to be seen. It took a moment to find them, but when he did, his stomach twisted in knots. They were right in front of the house, all of them walking in a hunched, bizarre, inhuman manner that gave him goose bumps just looking at them. They were at the gate and were studying the house carefully. They looked like lions on their haunches, ready for the slightest tremble of prey to send them charging. Darry pulled away from the window quickly and quietly. He looked around for the gun and remembered Pony putting it on the kitchen table.

He gestured for Pony to lean closer, and he whispered, "Go into Dad's closet. Get your gun and plenty of shells. Hurry."

Pony nodded and crawled until he was far enough from the front window to stand. He crouched as he ran back to their parents' room. Darry stared at the gun on the kitchen table. It was directly in front of the window, and he wouldn't be able to get it without being seen. He crawled until he hit the kitchen and then stopped when he heard the creak of wood on the front porch. He scrambled to his feet and reached for the gun, struggling to load it with the shells he had kept in his pocket. He could hear them outside, banging against the door, struggling to open it against the couch. He couldn't bring himself to look back because he knew he would never get the shotgun loaded if he did. He heard the door hit the couch under great force as he snapped the barrel closed, and he cocked the hammer as he turned on his heel.

Pony was beside him in seconds, and they both walked toward the couch. They had managed to get the door open a few inches, but they were still struggling against the couch. One had its hand through the window, trying to break out enough glass to get inside. They looked so much like people - people that lived on his street, people he had known for his entire life - but there was nothing human about the way they were moving, the sounds they were making, or what they were planning on doing when they came inside his home. Darry raised the rifle and pointed it at the one in the window. He pulled the trigger and the bullet hit it with enough impact to make it stumble away from the window and against the porch rail.

Pony aimed his gun and fired at the door. He must have hit one of them from the sound it made. The hairs on Darry's neck stood on end as they got closer, and he fired at the one from the window. That seemed to take care of it, at least for the time being, and he reloaded as quickly as he could. Pony aimed at the others at the door, reloading as Darry backed him up. He wasn't sure how many shots they fired, but finally the gang of monsters were in a heap on the porch and their living room was littered with discarded shells.

"What do we do now?" Pony asked.

Darry shook his head, trying to get a deep breath and keep his head on straight. His hands were tingling from the grip he had on the gun, and he slowly sat it down on the couch. It amazed him that in just a matter of hours, he could shoot a gun at people without much hesitation.

"We need to get them off the porch. I don't want to look at them all night long."

"Are we just gonna leave them in the yard?" Pony asked.

"What else can we do?"

Pony looked like he had an idea, but he just sat down in Darry's ragged armchair, gun still tightly in his hands.

"What?" Darry asked. "What are you thinking right now?"

Pony stared at the door for a long moment before he answered. "This sounds stupid, but there was a movie like this that I saw last year. I mean, not like this, but kind of."

"What?" he asked. He didn't know where Pony's train of thought was going, but he needed him to focus.

"It was the Night of the Living Dead ... it was almost just like this, but the living dead in that movie were nothing like these ... things."

"The 'living dead?'" Darry ran a hand through his hair. Sometimes he just didn't get his brother. It was times like these he wished Soda were there, because at least he could humor Pony. Darry was just exasperated. "That's not possible. It doesn't even make any sense."

"And this makes perfect sense?" Pony snapped.

"Fine," he replied, not masking his annoyance. "So let's say this is like that movie. How'd they survive?"

Pony blanched a little. "They didn't, really. Not many of them, anyway."

"Good," Darry said. "Thanks for bringing it up."

"Listen, the reason I brought it up was because I thought it might be a way to at least get rid of ... them."

"And what would that be?"

"Burn them."

From anyone else, Darry would have heard a sick sense of power behind those two words. He didn't even have to see how sick Pony looked to know that he didn't like the suggestion.

"It would get rid of them and ... I don't know, maybe it would keep others away from the house."

Darry looked from his brother to the front porch and closed his eyes. He wished more than anything that he could open them and find that he had been dreaming it all. That was the one thing he wanted more desperately than anything else.

But he opened his eyes and found everything the same way it had been.

"I'll see if we have gasoline in the shed out back. Load your gun and keep an eye out for me while I look, all right?"

Pony nodded, struggling to put the bullets in his gun. His hands were shaking, and he stopped long enough to wipe at his face. Darry wasn't very surprised to see that he was crying because that's what he felt like doing himself.

He walked over and squeezed his brother's shoulder.

"Sorry," Pony mumbled, as he snapped the barrel closed on the gun and stood up. "I don't know if it's actually a good idea. Maybe we shouldn't do it."

"I think it's worth a shot."

"But ..." He stopped long enough to wipe at his nose. "They're people, you know? Can we really do that?"

"Pone," Darry said quietly, pulling him into a hug. "They haven't been people since they got whatever this thing is. We need to keep ourselves safe."

Pony let out a sob against Darry's shirt, and he let him stand there and cry before he headed outside for the shed.

XXX

Tim leaned against the car while Curly plunked the same dime back into the payphone.

"You can call a hundred _more_ times if you want," Tim said, "but if they haven't answered yet, they probably won't answer those calls, either."

Curly listened for a few more seconds before he slammed the receiver down. "What the fuck is going on around here?"

Tim shrugged a little. "Got me."

"If the cops aren't at the station, then they would be out here, wouldn't they?"

"Maybe they're all at Buck's. Why don't we head right back there to the scene of the crime?" Tim resisted the urge to walk over and slap Curly in the back of the head. "Forget this stupid idea and let's go."

"Go where?"

"Home, I guess. I don't know."

"What if this shit's already spread? What if it's already made it home?"

"Only one way to find out," he said, although he hadn't really considered that possibility. They didn't even know what exactly _it_ was, and he certainly didn't think about it being widespread. Buck's seemed like an isolated incident, although he didn't have much to compare it to. "Let's go see for ourselves."

Curly reluctantly got back in the car, and they headed further down the Ribbon. Tim had stopped at the first phone booth they passed which was the furthest point from the heart of the strip of hangouts. As they got closer to the popular places, he had to admit that it looked a little strange. There were cars all over the place, but it was practically deserted. Granted, it was late, but it was still a Friday night and places like the Dingo and the bowling alley stayed open as late as Charlie's bar did. The few people that were walking around looked as dazed as that bum had.

He stepped on the gas and sped down the street, ignoring the red lights. He wasn't sure where the cops were if they weren't at the station or on the Ribbon. He didn't think it mattered; whatever was going around, he didn't think the fuzz could do anything to help.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: S.E. Hinton owns _The Outsiders_. Mumford and Sons owns "Dust Bowl Dance."**

* * *

_Well yes sir, yes sir, yes it was me  
I know what I've done 'cause I know what I've seen  
I went out back and I got my gun  
I said, "You haven't met me, I am the only son."_

Whatever the _thing_ was, it wasn't as smart as a person, Steve realized. It was reaching into the cells, moaning and groaning and making all kinds of noises that were giving him chills to listen to, but it wasn't making any progress. Steve tried to keep his eyes diverted from it, but it was hard knowing that this was, at least at one point, a person. The badge on the front of the uniform said this was Miles, and while Steve didn't know most of the cops around town, this guy's name sounded familiar. Maybe somebody he had even gone to high school with.

As it was reaching into the cell to their right, Steve got up the nerve to look at the thing's face. It had eyes, a nose, a mouth, all the things a person would have, but it just didn't look human. He didn't have a word for it. The hands that it was reaching into the cell had a greenish tinge to them, the skin cracked and split in various places. The hair on its head was wild, just like the eyes, and at the corners of its mouth was dried blood.

"How the hell do we get out of here?" Two-Bit asked quietly. His eyes were locked on the thing in front of them, and Steve didn't know how he could stand to look at it.

"We need to know what this thing is before we do anything. I want to know what we're up against before we get ourselves out in the open."

"Why doesn't he just use the keys on his belt to open the cells?"

"He doesn't know he has them. Or he doesn't know how to use them."

"What the hell is he?" Two-Bit hissed.

"I have no idea."

"Do you think there's more like him?"

Steve glanced over at him. That hadn't occurred to him for some reason. He hadn't heard the entire conversation Henderson had with the other cop on the radio, but he heard enough to know they needed back-up. Of course there were more of these things out there. There had to be.

"We're sitting ducks if we stay here," he said, finally finding his voice.

"Do you have some sort of a plan?" Two-Bit asked. "Even if we could get past this guy, how exactly do we unlock the cell?"

Steve studied the creature that was still banging on the bars to the cell next to them. "We get the keys off his belt."

"And he rips us to shreds like he did that guy. Did you see that? He wasn't even _trying_. That guy never stood a chance, and neither do we."

"We distract him."

"With what?" Two-Bit asked. "I'm funny, but something tells me he won't get my jokes."

Steve considered the possibility for a moment before he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the screwdriver he had been hiding. He nodded in Henderson's direction. "It's a long story, but I got this from him earlier."

Two-Bit glanced between the screwdriver and the guy before he stood up. Steve jumped up when he did, but Two-Bit held out his hands. The man-creature on the other side of the bars noticed their sudden movements but kept his eyes trained on Two-Bit.

"Calm down, man. I'm not doing anything drastic."

"Stay as far back as you can," Steve instructed, glancing over at the creature. Two-Bit followed his gaze and stepped carefully to the back corner of their cell that shared bars with the next one over.

Steve sat back down, gripping the screwdriver like his life depended on it. He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to get his head on straight. The only person he could think about was Evie. He didn't care if the first thing she did when she saw him was break up with him. He just wanted to see her again.

Two-Bit walked over to him, a solemn look on his face. "I have a plan."

"One that gets us out of here in one piece or one that ends us up like him?"

Two-Bit shrugged and glanced back at the creature that was studying him. "I guess we'll see."

One of the guys in the other cell walked up to the bars, right at the front corner, his side touching the bars that lined the side of their own cell. He began yelling and pounding on the metal, earning a wild-eyed glance from the creature. The other men in the cell followed suit, all yelling incomprehensible things that garnered more attention from the monster. When it got close enough to them, they backed up out of reach, but the thing kept reaching in the cell for them, desperate to get a hold of someone.

"Come on," Two-Bit said. "We do the same thing. Give me the screwdriver."

Steve reluctantly loosened his grip on it and handed it over. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Hopefully enough damage that keeps him distracted long enough for one of us can snag those keys off his belt and get out of here."

While the monster – that was the only thing Steve could think of it as – was still reaching for the other men, he and Two-Bit walked up to the cell. They hardly had a chance to lay their hands on the metal before the thing noticed them and started their way. The men beside them began kicked at the bars, yelling louder, and Two-Bit reached between the bars. With the screwdriver, he aimed right for the monster's face and got in one good jab. It made another of those loud groans it had made when Henderson shot at it, and it charged Two-Bit.

"Now, Steve!" Two-Bit said, struggling to get his arm through the bars as the thing came after him.

Steve was way ahead of him, though, and from where he was kneeling, he reached through the bars. The keys fell lose from the belt and landed just outside of the bars. He grabbed at them and pulled them through just before the monster noticed him and reached in his direction. He slid back across the floor, his shoulder hitting the bench.

"Oh, shit," he muttered.

"Did you get 'em?" Two-Bit asked, his right arm cradled in his left hand.

Steve opened his clasped hands to reveal the keychain. "Now what?"

The monster was still reaching through the bars when Two-Bit brought the screwdriver up again. He aimed for the face again and right before he made contact, Steve saw the bloody scratches down Two-Bit's arm.

XXX

"So, what's the plan now?" Curly asked.

Tim had his car parked at the end of the block, and they were looking down the street at the houses. Their own house had been ransacked and they split as soon as they could, without ever spotting their mom, stepdad or Angela. There weren't many people out, but they were all walking around as if they were in a daze. They didn't seem to notice the car - he had turned the lights off well before he reached the neighborhood, just in case. They all seemed to have whatever the hell it was that was going around Buck's.

"I don't have a fucking clue," he admitted. "You got any ideas?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you, genius," he snapped. "Why do I always have to come up with the plans?"

"It's your gang," Curly said quietly.

"I seem to remember you challenging me on that fact about a year ago."

"And I think I remember you setting me straight."

Tim glared at his little brother. He certainly had set him straight when they had the argument which turned into a knockout, drag-down fight. Leave it to Curly to voluntarily admit to losing a fight like that when it came to something that required a little bit of leadership. He wanted the glory, not the responsibility. Tim didn't exactly want the responsibility, but he liked the glory and respect that came with it. He wasn't about to give all of that up.

"Come on, Tim," Curly finally pleaded. "I don't know what we need to do, and ... and ..."

"And what?"

"And I'm fucking scared is what!"

Tim kept studying him before he sighed. "Well, you aren't gonna like what I have to say. I don't know what the hell we should do."

"Shit," he mumbled, leaning his head against the splintered pool stick he kept gripping in his hands.

XXX

The man-creature thrashed around on the floor, a howling cry escaping its gnarled lips as it tried to pull the screwdriver from its eye socket. Steve struggled with the keys, pausing long enough to tell himself to calm down. It took a couple tries with each key until he got the third one to fit. The lock clicked, the door swung open, and Steve felt some of the tightness in his chest lift until he looked at the monster writhing on the floor.

Two-Bit took the keys from his hand and, after shoving him out of the cell, dodged by the thing on the floor and unlocked the cell next to them, freeing those men.

"Thanks for distracting him," he told one of them while the other two split without looking back.

He nodded. "We gotta get out of here 'fore we're a midnight snack for that thing. What the hell is it? It's like that movie … 'The Living Dead' or somethin'. I still can't believe it."

Steve made his way over to Two-Bit when he remembered the radio he had stashed under the bench in the cell. He started back, but Two-bit caught his arm.

"What are you doing? We gotta get outta here."

"This is important," he said, keeping a wide berth of the thing on the floor, still struggling and kicking. "We need something to protect ourselves, and I don't think a screwdriver's gonna do it."

"Well, I'm not sticking around," said the guy from the other cell. "You better get your arm cleaned up or something. That shit could be contagious."

"Yeah, thanks," Two-Bit mumbled.

Steve grabbed the radio from the bench and almost dropped it when he heard metal hit the concrete floor.

"Steve," Two-Bit warned quietly, but he didn't need a warning. He knew what happened.

He looked back to find the screwdriver still rolling across the floor as the guy slowly rolled to his side, blood seeping from the wounds on his face and his left eye bulging slightly. It seemed dazed from the attack, but Steve was afraid it wasn't enough to keep it down for long.

As it climbed to its unsteady feet, he felt his heart drop. Somehow he was stuck in that cell again, the monster blocking his only exit. He couldn't blame Two-Bit if he bailed on him then and there, but the thought of it happening tightened his chest until he thought his heart might explode.

"Get down!"

Steve didn't know who said it or who it was directed to, but he watched Two-Bit drop to the floor faster than he could comprehend anything else. Two gunshots rang in the small space of the room, and Steve fell hard onto the concrete.

It took him a long moment to decide that he was safe, he hadn't been shot, and from what he could tell, his exit was no longer blocked.

An older man walked further into the room, cocked his gun and aimed it at the floor in the doorway of the open cell. He fired one more time before he turned to Steve. He was wearing a police uniform, but so had the creature. He didn't know what to believe.

"Are you all right, son?" he asked, stepping into the cell.

Steve slowly climbed to his feet, nodding and feeling unsteady, the radio clutched tightly to his chest.

"What was that thing?" Steve asked.

"I don't know," the cop said, reaching to help him across the threshold. "There's more of them, though. I came back to get ammo and call for back-up, but I have a feeling there won't be any."

Steve followed, stepping as far from the thing as he could.

"It's spreading fast, whatever it is," he said, following Steve out of the cell and heading into the main room. "We need to get out of here."

Steve saw the handset of the radio sticking out from under Henderson's body on the desk and grabbed it as they walked by. He hoped it might come in handy so long as he hadn't broken the damn radio.

"How's it spreading?" Two-Bit asked when they reached the larger room.

The man had a small arsenal opened and was pulling out handguns and a couple rifles.

"So far as I can tell, the infected ones are spreading it through bite wounds and other contact with blood."

"Oh, shit," Two-Bit muttered, stumbling a little into one of the desks.

"Son?" The officer turned around, his hand on his holster, but he didn't look ready to use his gun. "Are you all right?"

He shielded his arm and looked past the man to Steve. "I've got it."

"It's just a scratch," he said. "That doesn't mean anything. It'll be fine."

He was looking at the officer when he said that and, after a reluctant hesitation, the man finally nodded. "It'll be okay. Let's get out of here."

XXX

Pony stood halfway between the shed and the backdoor while Darry shined a flashlight across the yard. He didn't see anything, nor did he hear anything, so he took it for a good sign. He opened the old wooden door and tried not to visibly jump when the hinges squeaked. They had squeaked ever since he was a little kid, and no matter how much oil his dad put on them, they kept squeaking. It just came to mean their dad was getting ready to do yard work or maybe just finishing up. It also meant the boys were getting ready to ride their bikes or play basketball.

Now, it meant Darry was getting ready to burn a handful of the living dead. He sighed a little to himself as he shook his head. He just didn't understand how things had gotten to this point. He was used to his world being turned upside down - it had happened enough in his twenty-three years, first with his parents' deaths, then Johnny and Dallas, and then Sodapop's death in Vietnam. He was used to constantly picking up pieces and putting them back together. He just didn't know if, after this, there would be any pieces left. Everything might be permanently broken, and not just for him and his brother, but for the whole city. Maybe the whole state. Hell, maybe the whole world, for all he knew.

He waved the flashlight around the tiny wooden shed until it landed on the old gas can. He picked it up, satisfied that it was about halfway full. He turned back and held it up to Pony who nodded.

"Okay, let's go," he said quietly.

Darry grabbed one of their dad's old rags from the workbench and followed Pony back inside and through the house.

They finally managed to move the dead onto the lawn, although it took a lot of nerve from both of them. Neither talked while they were doing it, and Darry didn't think he would ever want to talk about it later, either.

"Lighter?" Darry asked as he poured the gasoline on the pile - he refused to think of them as people because he would never treat people like that.

Pony lit a cigarette and handed his lighter over.

Darry's family had never been overly religious, and he himself had never given much thought to God or prayers before - they hadn't done much for him in the past - but before he lit the pile, he looked up at the sky.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered so quietly, he could barely hear himself.

When he finally got up the courage to do it, the fire licked at the gasoline until the whole pile was on fire. The smell of burning hair made his stomach turn, and for a brief second, part of him panicked that he was doing the wrong thing. He forced himself to remember Mr. Clarkson from next door, Mrs. Winters being chased down in the street, the lone newscaster being ripped apart.

"Come on, Pony," he said, turning to his brother.

Pony was just standing there, his cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked out to the street. Darry couldn't see anything from where he was standing because of the smoke in front of him, and he stepped over to his brother. The look on his face made Darry nervous, but when he looked out onto the street, he didn't see anything.

"Do you hear something?" Darry asked.

Pony gestured for him to be quiet, but he didn't say a word as he walked up to the gate.

"Pony!" Darry hissed. "Get back here."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Nobody probably remembers me or this story (it's been so long that even I didn't, and I wrote it), but maybe somebody out there hasn't completely given up on this (or me). So, for that one person that has had this lonely and forgotten story on your mind, thanks and here's a new chapter.**

**Also, S.E. Hinton owns _The Outsiders_. Mumford and Sons owns "Timshel."**

* * *

_And death is at your doorstep  
And it will steal your innocence  
But it will not steal your substance_

The officer introduced himself to the boys as Lieutenant Kehres. Steve didn't recognize him, but he didn't have much reason to know him. He wondered if Two-Bit had ever had a run-in with him before. To the guy's credit, he didn't seem concerned about teaming up with a couple of greasers even after they had been in lockup. He put the fire power in a large duffle and nodded at the boys.

"Let's get out of here."

Steve looked around to see if the three guys they had been sharing the drunk tank with were still there, but they must not have been kidding when the one said they weren't sticking around. There was no sign of them anywhere.

The three of them piled into a cruiser, and Kehres drove down through town, keeping to the backstreets. There were a few places where the place looked like a riot had gone through and other places where it looked completely deserted. Steve wasn't sure which scared him more.

"Either of you have family close to here?" he asked as they drove. "We're going to need to stick together. It'd be dangerous to split up right now."

"My girl lives a couple blocks over," Steve said. Evie had been running through his thoughts all night long. "Turn right up there. Then it's the second left. Taylor Avenue."

Her street was a giant mess of wrecked cars and small fires. He was torn about what he should do. He couldn't just leave her there if she was okay; he couldn't see what was left if she wasn't.

Kehres drove down the street slowly, weaving in and out of parked and stalled cars until he came to the house Steve pointed to.

The lieutenant paused when they got out of the car and unzipped the small arsenal he had packed. He handed each a handgun.

"Know how to use a gun?" he asked.

Steve glanced at Two-Bit then back to Kehres and nodded.

They followed closely behind the cop as he tried the front door. It was unlocked and swung open easily. The house was dark and the electricity didn't seem to be working, so he shined his light over every inch of the room before they entered. It looked like it usually did, but that made Steve nervous. Everything inside looked fine; so why wasn't Evie coming to see who was there?

Lieutenant Kehres made a thorough sweep of the living room and kitchen, with Steve feeling useless following him and Two-Bit around. He wouldn't be of any help with the way his hands were shaking. He was terrified he would find Evie dead in her room. Or worse. He closed his mind off to that thought. He didn't want to think about what could be worse than her being dead, but after what he saw at the station, he knew there were plenty of things that could be worse.

They walked slowly through the hallway with Kehres and Two-Bit looking into each room, shining the light across every inch of the walls and floors. They looked behind doors, under beds, and in closets. There wasn't a soul there. In a way, Steve was relieved to have not found Evie, but he was panicked. He didn't know where she could have been, especially with the state her neighborhood was in.

"The street's a mess," Steve said when they returned to the living room. "So where is everybody?"

"Maybe they got out before things got too bad," Two-Bit reasoned.

"No, I don't mean just Evie. I mean the people that did this." He pulled the curtains open and looked out onto the street. It didn't make sense. "They were here earlier. Where are they now?"

"I've been wondering that myself." Kehres joined Steve at the window and looked out. "So either they're hiding out, or they're moving somewhere else. Where?"

Steve thought back to the thing that attacked the cop at the police station. He attacked him like he was prey, and he didn't seem like the hiding type.

"They're going somewhere with people," he said. "Some place where a bunch of people would be out."

"What? You think they're hunting?" Kehres asked.

Steve nodded, a sick taste in the back of his throat. "I think that's exactly what they're doing."

"After what happened at the police station," Two-Bit said slowly, "I think you're right."

"I need to try the radio again," he said. "We need to keep moving."

They walked back outside to the cruiser and climbed in.

"I need to get home to my ma," Two-Bit said from the passenger seat. "She ain't been well the last couple of days."

"She's sick?" Kehres asked.

He nodded. "A summer cold or something. I need to make sure her and my sister are safe."

Steve didn't miss the way the cop looked at Two-Bit, but he didn't know what the look meant. A summer cold wasn't anything new. Then again, Steve himself glanced at the scratches that ran the length of his friend's forearm. They looked significantly worse than they had just half an hour ago. He looked back at the cop.

"Sure," Kehres was saying. "We'll do the same sweep we did here, but first sign of trouble, we're leaving."

"Fine," Two-Bit said.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Two-Bit shot the cop a look. "I'm fine. Let's go."

XXX

Darry spotted someone moving down the street that dead-ended into St. Louis, but he couldn't even open his mouth to warn Pony. All he could do was grab the shotgun from the porch steps and level it against whatever threat was headed their way. He walked up beside Pony and waited.

The person was walking normally, albeit slowly, and Darry slowly lowered the gun.

"Who's there?" he asked loudly.

He was surprised when there was a small yelp in surprise and then feet slapped at the pavement as they ran toward them. Darry raised the gun again on instinct, but Pony slapped a hand on the barrel and pushed the nose to the ground.

"Evie?" he asked.

"Oh, God," she whimpered as she reached the fence. Pony opened the gate, and she stumbled in, wrapping her arms around him.

"Are you all right?" he asked. He looked just as surprised as Darry was that she was clinging to him the way she was.

"Oh, God," she cried again, still hanging on to him. "It was awful. I don't know who they were or what happened, but everyone back there ... they're all ... oh, God!"

"Let's go inside," Pony said, pulling away from her but holding tightly to her arm. "It's safer inside, okay?"

She nodded and let Pony guide her up the porch steps. She held onto the doorframe with a trembling hand as they walked inside. Darry followed them, glancing out to the street to make sure there weren't any other visitors. When he was satisfied, he joined Evie and Pony inside.

"Is Steve here?" she was asking.

Pony shook his head and glanced at his brother for help. "No, I think he was out with Two-Bit tonight."

"I went to his house first," she said, wringing her hands so tightly Darry was surprised he couldn't hear the bones grinding together. "The front door was hanging off its hinges. I was hoping he went to my house but when I got there the street was a wreck, and I was scared to go in my house alone."

"How'd you get here?" Darry asked, sitting down beside her on the couch.

"I ran as far as I could, and then I hid. I stayed in the dark. I saw a few of ... them, though. They didn't see me. I watched them chase a few people. They're so fast ... I never would have been able to outrun them. Oh, God. Where's Steve?"

Darry patted her arm awkwardly. "Wherever he is, I'm sure he's planning on coming here as soon as he can. We'll just have to wait for him. I'm going to get you a glass of water, okay? You should drink something. You know, calm down a little."

When he was in the kitchen, trying to find a clean glass in the dark, he heard them talking in the living room.

"When I saw you, Pony, I thought I was looking at a ghost. You look so much like Soda."

Darry stood quietly over the sink. He had thought that himself several times in the last few hours. He didn't know if it was just the only distraction his mind could find, or if it was the way he had seemed to just grow up in those few hours.

When Darry pushed himself away from the sink, he saw Pony smiling a little. It was a sad smile, but Soda was in that half-grin on his face, there was no doubt about it.

"It's just 'cause it's dark," he was saying. "I don't look that much like him."

"Sure, you do," she said. She smiled at Darry when he handed her the glass of water, water-logged mascara falling into her smile lines. "You're a lot taller than him, but you look just like him. So handsome."

If there had been more light in the room, Darry was sure he would have been able to see the blush on Pony's face.

They sat in silence for a good amount of time as Evie collected herself. She drank her glass of water and then sat, wringing her hands again.

"I'll be right back," Darry said. "I'm going to look for some candlesticks so we don't have to sit in the dark. Are you guys okay if I take the flashlight?"

Evie looked a little scared, but she nodded. Pony was sitting in the armchair, and Darry whispered as he walked by, "Go sit with her."

He nodded and jumped to. Darry looked back long enough to see him sitting close enough for their knees to be touching. He smiled a little to himself, considering the situation. Steve and Pony had never been great friends, and he wondered if Steve would make a snide comment about him getting fresh with Evie if - when - he got there.

Darry plundered under the sink for any sign of candles but came up empty. He knew his mother had some around the house from years and years earlier, he just wasn't sure where. He went through just about every drawer in the house before he finally came up with two. The candlestick holders were collecting dust on top of the refrigerator, and he came back with both in his hands, the flashlight tucked under his arm.

"Nice and cozy, right?" he asked as he sat them down on the coffee table. Pony pulled out his lighter and lit them. Darry turned off the flashlight to conserve the battery and sat on the other side of Evie. The last thing he wanted was to lose that in the middle of the night. He wasn't willing to turn on the lights in the house.

That wasn't a concern after much longer. As they were sitting quietly in the living room, Darry heard the refrigerator come to a shuddering halt as the power went out.

"What was that?" Evie hissed.

"Shh," Darry said, as he looked out the window. He couldn't see much over the smoke that still billowed from the still-burning fire in the front yard. "We just lost power, that's all."

"Anyone out there?" Pony asked.

"I don't see anyone," he said.

He looked up and down the street to see if everyone else had lost their power too. There weren't any lights on, but he couldn't remember seeing any on earlier, so he wasn't sure. Maybe they were all just hiding in the dark, too. He was about to say it looked clear, when he spotted movement down the street.

"Blow out the candles," he hissed. "Hurry."

They were out before he finished talking, and he kept his eyes glued on the movement outside. He felt Evie and Pony shift beside him on the couch.

He pointed a little. "Down there. Maybe three of them."

Evie whimpered a little. They seemed like they were much too far away to hear anything like that, but Darry still wrapped an arm around her and clamped his hand over her mouth. She scraped at his hand to get him to let her go, but he didn't move as the creatures outside moved closer to the house.

"Close your eyes, Evie," he whispered. "It'll be fine, just keep quiet and close your eyes."

He didn't look to see if she had listened to him, but he assumed she had when the three were directly in front of the house, and she didn't make a sound.

They walked over to the gate and leaned close enough that Darry could see their wild eyes reflect the glow of the fire. They seemed interested in whatever was burning, but after a few moments of looking in the yard and sniffing the air, they finally moved on.

Darry kept his hand clamped over Evie's mouth for at least five more minutes, just in case. Her eyes were squeezed tight and she was dead weight beside him.

He finally let go of her. "Sorry," he whispered. "I couldn't let them hear us."

"They're gone?" she asked.

"Yeah, they're gone. You can open your eyes."

She shook her head. "I don't think I want to."

The two brothers sat looking out the window for the next hour with Evie between them, her face buried in her arms.

XXX

Steve sat forward when they turned onto the street. A couple cars were wrecked, and a streetlight was down.

"Shit," Two-Bit mumbled. He pointed to his house, and Kehres stopped the cruiser in front of it. The street seemed to still have power, but the lights in the Mathews house were flickering. "I'll be right back."

"We're going with you," Kerhes said, climbing out of the car. He opened the back door for Steve and drew his gun from his holster. "I told you, no splitting up from here on out."

"We don't need these," Two-Bit insisted.

Steve shrugged apologetically as he gripped his own gun tightly. "We might. Let's go."

Two-Bit reluctantly held onto the gun and walked up to the split level. The front door looked like it had been kicked in, and he swiped a hand across his face. Steve's heart was pounding hard in his chest, wondering if his own house looked the same. Part of him didn't care what happened to his old man, but another part, deep down, was afraid his dad was already dead.

"Mom?" he called, startling Steve by breaking the harsh silence in the house. "Lucy? Mama, where are you?"

They stuck together, the three cramped in the small living room and then the small kitchen. Things were a mess, but there was no sign of either Mrs. Mathews or Lucy. Two-Bit started up the stairs and the others followed. Kehres cocked the pistol in his hands, keeping it pointed at the ground, and the cold _click _of the metal sent a shiver down Steve's spine. The thought of having to use his own gun sent another shiver coursing through his body.

"Mom?" Two-Bit called, louder this time. "Where are you, Lucy? It's just me. Everything's okay."

He looked into his own room, but from Steve's spot behind him, the room was empty. The next was Lucy's room which was also empty.

They paused outside of the third room upstairs, Two-Bit placing a shaky hand on the closed door. Before he opened it, he looked over at Kehres.

"What if they have it?" he asked. He lifted his gun weakly. "I'm not using this."

Kehres nodded. "You don't have to. I'm going to take care of it, though. If they have it, they'll give it to us. We can't risk that."

Two-Bit looked away, but Steve could tell he was about to cry. He put a hand on his buddy's shoulder.

"If you want, you can go downstairs and wait for us, just in case. Right?" he asked the cop.

Kehres nodded. "Sure. You don't have to see this."

Two-Bit shook his head and sniffed. "No," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm staying."

He took a couple deep breaths before he turned the knob and opened the door. The light was off, but Two-Bit flipped the switch and a strangled sob escaped him when the light came on.

Mrs. Mathews was lying on the bed next to Lucy. The girl had blood running down her face, her hair a matted mess from caked blood. Mrs. Mathews looked about the same, but there was something about her that Steve couldn't place that didn't look quite right. He couldn't look at her long enough to know what it was but, looking at Kehres, he saw it too.

"She was sick," the lieutenant said quietly, his hand on Two-Bit's arm in an effort to keep him steady on his feet.

Two-Bit didn't say anything, he just sank to his knees, a hand over his mouth. He was mumbling, but Steve couldn't make out anything he was saying. Kehres stepped past him, further into the room, pulling out a handkerchief and placing it over his mouth. Steve kept a hand on Two-Bit's shoulder but put the gun back in his waist band and covered his mouth with his other hand. The smell was awful.

"It looks like it was a gun shot that killed both of them," Kehres said as he walked around the bed, his tone clipped like a detective inspecting a crime scene. Steve supposed that was true, but he didn't have to sound so clinical about it.

Two-Bit let out a low wail that made Steve look away. It wasn't a situation his friend would want to see him in, but there was no leaving him alone now.

"Son," Kehres said, coming back to Two-Bit. He knelt down in front of him, a hand on his shoulder. "I think your mama was sick, and she knew it. She would have hurt your sister, or something else would have. From the state of the house, those things passed through here. I think she ended it before anything worse could have happened to either of them. That was brave of her."

Two-Bit was shaking his head, but he couldn't seem to say anything. Steve tried to think of something to comfort his friend, but he knew there wasn't anything that could make it better. Gunshots or monsters, it seemed to him that one was just as bad as the other.

The three men stood there for a long time, an occasional sob coming from Two-Bit every now and then.

"Can I have a minute with them?" he finally asked after a couple shaky breaths. "I shoulda been here with them when this happened."

"Sure," Kehres said, helping Two-Bit to his feet.

Steve was surprised when his buddy turned around and enveloped him in a vicious hug. "Make sure Darry and Pony are okay. You gotta go see them."

He wasn't sure why Two-Bit was talking the way he was until he shoved him away and threw the bedroom door shut, leaving Steve and Kehres on the other side.

Steve threw a fist against the door before he tried the door knob, only to find it locked. "Two-Bit, open the door."

"Come on, Two-Bit," Kehres said, banging on the door, too. "You don't wanna do this."

Steve heard a scraping sound behind the door until something heavy hit it. He was barricading himself in.

"I've got it, Steve. These marks on my arm? You know I have it."

"You don't have it. We don't even know what it is. You scraped your arm. That's it. That's all that happened. You don't have it!"

"I can feel it, man. I know I have it. It's better this way. At least this way I can be with Lucy and my mom, like I shoulda been. God, I've been a terrible son. I'm an awful big brother. I should've been here with them."

"Two-Bit, please open the door. We can't lose you, too." Steve didn't realize he was crying until he choked on his words.

"Steve," he said from the other side of the door. He sounded so calm that it made the hair on the back of Steve's neck stand on end. "Promise me you'll marry Evie. Somebody's gotta be happy around here."

"I promise," he said, his forehead rested against the door. "I'll ask her as soon as I see her."

"Thanks, man."

Steve felt his blood run cold when he heard the hammer of a gun cock behind the door. He closed his eyes and jerked back when the bullet exploded from the gun.

He didn't realize he was yelling his friend's name until he couldn't breathe anymore. He didn't know when he fell to his knees, only that Kehres was trying to help him stand up.

"Come on," he said. "We need to keep moving."

Steve jerked away from the cop and stumbled down the stairs. He leaned against the wall, a headache burning behind his eyes and bile burning his throat.

Kehres guided him out the door, a firm hand on his shoulder, but Steve could barely feel anything. They were halfway across the grass when his stomach lurched. He tried to suppress it, but he heaved into the bushes. Kehres kept his hand on his shoulder but didn't say anything while he coughed and gagged.

He sat on his knees, trying to keep from vomiting again. When he felt the wave pass, he slowly climbed to his feet. His legs were weak, his knees knocking as he tried to make sense of what had happened. It had to be a bad dream, the kind of nightmare that would go on and on until Steve finally woke up in a cold sweat in his bed.

"Take your time," Kehres said.

Steve walked to the car, hoping for that cold-sweat wake-up call but knowing he wouldn't experience it. He stared at the car for a moment, trying to put everything out of his head as he reluctantly took Two-Bit's spot in the passenger seat. He held his head as Kehres started the car, his hands trembling as bad as his legs had been.

Steve didn't say anything as they drove out of the neighborhood, and Kehres kept fiddling with the radio. He tried every channel, but if they didn't come up as pure static, they didn't work at all. He cursed and clipped the handset back.

"Do you have family you need to get to?" Steve asked.

The man pulled away from the house and drove down the street. He hesitated before he finally shook his head. "No, I don't. Not after tonight."

Steve thought about all the people in Tulsa that were in that same situation. It was like the whole city had been decimated in a matter of hours.

After a long pause, Kehres finally said, "We need to find a place to lay low. Do you know of anywhere we could go?"

Steve considered it for a moment. "North St. Louis Avenue."

"Another house? I don't know if that's safe."

He nodded. "It's the safest house I've ever been in. It still is. It has to be."

* * *

**A/N: Listen, don't look at me like that. I know how everybody feels about Two-Bit. I feel bad enough already.**


End file.
